In Writing
by Billlyryan
Summary: Where Maura risks all  I own nothing but my words and this half a bottle of red wine
1. Maura's Truth

Dearest Jane,

Normally I would write you an email or a text when I'm away but this is different. I will explain that statement in a moment.

The conference is going well. I made my presentation on bioethics and found that I had more questions on how this applies to me as a Medical Examiner than as an actual practicing physician. It was very enlightening as I had assumed all these traits in myself, but only realised it was in theory. Suffice it to say that I haven't slept well because even though no one made me feel it, I had to contemplate how I do show compassion in my chosen field of medicine. Notwithstanding is my experience in Doctors Without Borders, where compassion abounds. However I believe that my time with them has helped to form who I am as a medical examiner, in that it helps me to remember that the body on which I'm performing an autopsy was a living, breathing human being. Believe me this a condensed statement that belies the soul searching I did all night.

All this to say that during my "dark night of the soul" (did you know that the "Dark night of the soul" is actually a metaphor used to describe a phase in a person's spiritual life, marked by a sense of loneliness and desolation? Albeit mine was only for a single night and even though at times I whispered a prayer for guidance, I found that when morning came, so did clarity. While some of the saints and prophets of old experienced their dark night for years or decades) I want to tell you something.

As I write this I am sitting in front of the window that overlooks the lake behind the hotel. It's quite lovely this time of year. The leaves are bright red against my window and I see the fog lifting off the surface of the lake. The room is warm and I can feel how cold it is outside just by looking at the silver light of morning. I do not want to leave this warmth and face what could be the coldest day of the year so far.

I just returned to writing this as room service knocked and brought my breakfast. I had a Belgian waffle with fresh strawberries and fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee. And now I'm procrastinating with the real reason for my letter…

I miss you. It's only been 9 days and I miss you. I know that we talked last night on the phone and we'll talk again in a little while before you go to work and I go to my next meeting. But I miss you. I miss your smile and the way your face becomes soft whenever I walk into the room. Yes, I have noticed that. I miss the way you tease me and the way my heart skips when you do. I miss the way you say "really?" to any incredulous event or statement. I miss your voice and the way you say my name when you're happy, sad, scared, frustrated. I miss how when I come into work yours is the first face I seek. I miss your smell and the way you put your hands in your pockets when you're thinking. I miss your hands. I know that you might flinch at that, but no matter what's happened to them I miss their strength and their softness. I see you hold up a victim barely holding onto themselves and I watch your hands and all their sinewy strength stroke their back or their hair and I think that the scars you receive only made them stronger.

We've known each other for three years now and in all this time I never noticed how you are my every waking thought. Not to say that I have no other thoughts, but I find them all leading back to you. The other day I was on my lunch break from the conference and went to a little shoe boutique down the street and tried on at least a dozen pairs. I smiled in spite of myself at the thought of you wearing these particular heels with a peep toe! I imagined where you would wear them and how you would tell me in my ear the actual remaining minutes until your ankles would officially just break from fear. And then I laughed because I imagined telling you that ankles have no thought and that the body itself is quite capable of more than we give it credit for. And I sighed at your response: "_really_ Maura?" As I was standing in the mirror thinking all this, the sales lady said to me: "Do you just love them?" And I turned to her and said "Yes I love them very much" and I bought them.

By the time this letter reaches you I will be on my way home. I am nervous. My hands shake even now as I tell you this. I've never been in love before but my theory has always been that it's impossible to be in love with someone who isn't in love with you as well. I mean the term "in love" has always been a clinical definition at best for me. But I decided to research it a little during one of the presentations being given on Schistosomiasis (or in better terms: Snail Fever, but I digress). What I found was this: "A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness." Jane this is me. Towards you.

So besides the obvious pain of not knowing if you feel the same, losing your friendship, losing you and being able to face you again should you not feel the same; I wonder if I am actually "in love" based on my own theory of it being reciprocated? However, I cannot help it. I cannot change it. I cannot deny it.

I will not be back to Boston for another 12 days. Because of this revelation I am going to stay at one of my parent's summer homes. This one is in the Outer Banks. I need time to figure out if I can face you again.

I don't expect you to respond in the same fashion that I am writing to you and that's why I'm not including any return address. You know me, I don't know how to "play games" so please know that I do this with the intention of giving you this information and time.

It's almost time for the first seminar to begin. The silver light has been replaced by the sun and the fog is not as thick. The leaves are still red and now there is an old man bent at the waist walking around the lake. I took your BPD t-shirt. The one you left at my house. I sleep with it on and now it lies on my pillow. I see it from where I sit.

I miss you. It's almost time for your annoying alarm to go off. I hope your eyes have just begun to open…

Yours,

Maura


	2. Maura's Truth Again

Dearest Jane

Today is my last day at the conference. From here I will fly to Raleigh and drive to the Outer Banks. I look forward to walking on the beach just outside my door.

By now my letter has reached you. I am scared. But I am finding cathartic release in writing all of this down for you.

Last night a doctor from Portland asked me to have a drink with him. I accepted because I knew that any imbibing on my part would include a few moments of respite from your form. This is not to say that I don't want to see your face wherever I turn. It wasn't like my plan worked anyway. But I thought that if I had a couple glasses of wine that this aching inside would somehow not be able to survive the very air you give me upon thinking of you. It didn't work. I listened to him drone on about his experience in research at OHSU and how the first time he held a human heart in his hands he cried. I wasn't sure if he was trying to be sensitive for my benefit or not but I let him finish his story. He asked if I was seeing anyone and I had to think fast on how to answer. I told him that yes I was seeing someone. I see you around every corner and when I close my eyes. So I didn't lie to him, so much as tell him the truth that sits in my soul and is only meant for you.

My soul. It rings true with whatever enters it. There is a reverb inside that me that I have never paid attention to. I didn't realise that the "clanging" sound I kept hearing was my desire to find what love is. I don't have to google anything about love anymore. I do mathematics in my head so that I find comfort in the solid answers. I memorised the periodical chart when I was a small girl, but I will never be able to recall the element of cobalt without thinking about the time I tried to describe the Italian sea to you. Do you see Jane? Do you see how all of this makes sense? I have found that even the thought of you makes my heart so solid in my chest that I swear I can hear it whisper your name. And then I realise it was me all along whispering: "Jane…Jane".

I will say that I regret not giving you my return address in North Carolina because I am truly wondering how you feel. I want to know if you return my passion with your own. I want to know what your eyes did when you read about the shoes I bought. What did you think when I told you I love you? I know that I'll find out someday, but for now I like to think that you smiled.

Today we have a lecture on pediatric pathology. It turns out that the doctor I had the drink with the other night is giving the lecture. I hope his voice isn't as monotone in his presentation as it was the other night.

Here I am procrastinating with the inevitable again…

I'm saying goodbye to the lake this morning and the old man who walks around it everyday. I am saying goodbye to this room where I lived for two weeks and sat in melancholy over you. At times it was comforting to sit with a forlorn look on my face and an excitement over my sudden discovery of all that I hold for you. But none of that compares with the release I found in telling you.

Outside my window is the old man who is bent over walking slowly. He stops every now and then to look closer at something on the ground. I wonder what he sees and if he ever tries to look up at the trees and the sky. Oh he just did! For me this was almost prophetic – something I've been waiting for without knowing has happened.

I haven't heard from you in a few days and I hope all is well. I wonder if my letter has given you pause. I wonder if you're ok. I will not call you today. I'm leaving for the airport in a few hours and I don't know if I can handle hearing your voice. I'm afraid it will be filled with trepidation, pity, fear, or passion.

I was reading some Neruda the other day in the bookstore – I will quote from him as a closing thought. I cannot ramble anymore without the right words.

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  
>I love you simply, without problems or pride:<br>I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,  
>so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,<br>so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close."

Yours,

Maura


	3. Jane's Truth

Thank you for your comments and your patience. I am only just learning how to post on here. Thank you for letting me share this with you.

Maura,

I got your letter 5 days ago. I haven't heard anything from you since. Now I know why you sounded so strange on the phone! I haven't been able to call you. I wish I could say it's because I've been busy with a case but business has been slow. Yesterday Korsak bet Frost he couldn't jump over two desks at the same time. Frost just got out of the hospital this morning. It was just an overnight observational thing but his leg should heal nicely in 6 to 12 weeks. He hit his head on the corner of the copier and has a nice looking goose egg to show off. Other than that it's been dead here. Haha.

I haven't called you because I don't know what to say. I'm glad we're writing letters to each other because at least here you won't see the tears I have.

I have this picture of you taken on a Sunday afternoon. Do you remember that weekend we decided we weren't going to leave your house for any reason? We ordered in on Friday night, made breakfast and Ma fixed us dinner on Saturday. By Sunday afternoon we were going stir crazy so you decided to make a cake and I wanted to help. After I dropped the entire bowl of cake batter you decided it would be best if I just took "crime scene" photos. In the picture you'd just said "See Jane this is how you pour the batter from the bowl into the pan" I took it just as you looked up. You aren't wearing makeup and your hair is down around your face. You're wearing a long sleeved grey t-shirt and the light outside was just beginning to fade.

This is the picture of you I keep in my wallet. This is the one I take out to keep me balanced. This picture is the one I see whenever I close my eyes. This picture I carry because I cannot carry you.

But oh Maura, I want to. I want to lift you up and show you the dark sky, and lay you down gently so the sky seems like a blanket. When I was small I believed that the sky at night _was_ a blanket. I thought that God poked holes in the sky so the light of heaven would shine through so we wouldn't be afraid of the dark. These holes he called stars. These stars are what I want to hold you up to so you can peek through and tell me what heaven looks like. That photo of you is my own version of heaven.

Do you know that feeling you get when you have a really long, deep stretch? The one where your muscles pull long and hard at your bones and you take a deep breath and close your eyes and feel your muscles take their time getting back to their normal place in the universe of your own body? Of course you do, I forgot about the yoga classes you drag me to. Anyway I was thinking about this after I read your letter again today. I carry your words close to my heart. Not figuratively. Literally. I took your photo out of my wallet, wrapped it in the letter you wrote to me, folded it up and put it next to my heart. These two things are my long stretch during the day when it's impossible for me to do so.

I read your words in the morning when I wake up, when I go to sleep, when I'm sitting at my desk, when I was visiting Frost in the hospital. Korsak asked me what I was so glued to but apparently he had to ask me three times before I told him to shut up. I could hear your voice in your words and he was interrupting you.

Your words are like a long, deep stretch. You know that our jobs make it hard to relax and I feel my muscles wound tight during all the days I breathe, but it is your words that are peaceful and comforting. Or at least I thought this was the case. The thing is Maura even before I received your letter I had your photo. I was thinking about this today while I was going through some cold case files (I told you business was slow). There's something about a long stretch that feels sensual even at the office. When my muscles snap back into place in the deep, dark temple of my body, it makes me think about children being let out for recess, and called back in for nap time and a story. I imagine my muscles, like those children, wild and raging for a second, stretched beyond the skin of their long days in school for a moment and called back in slowly to resume their places on dark blue sleeping mats. Your words have brought that to me now. I used to look at your photo for this comfort but the words I've longed to hear for three years have brought peace.

My heart is yours Maura. In all the things that are wrong with the world I find that the only thing that makes sense is the fact that my heart is yours. I've never been in love before either. I don't know what it's supposed to look like but I know that it makes sense. _You_ make sense Maura.

I know you said you're going to the Outer Banks and you wanted to be alone but I don't know if I can handle the distance anymore. I know where your parent's house is now, and this letter will be waiting for you when you arrive.

I carry you with me. I feel you deep inside me like a long desired stretch at the end of a long day.

Always,

Jane


	4. Jane's Truth Again

_**I haven't decided if this exchange is finished yet. **_

_**These words are all that I own – and this new thermos I just bought.**_

_**Thank you for letting me share this with you.**_

Maura,

I received your second letter yesterday. I cannot contain all my thoughts and feelings inside this piece of paper. I don't know how an actual writer does it. When punctuation means nothing and your heart beats only to move to the next description of your feelings how do you make it all make sense? I hold nothing in my hands and still I feel you. I speak in run on sentences at night when I whisper to you. I become a child when I find a leaf on the ground in the shape of something mundane and I want to show it to you. I found a rock the other day on a walk with Ma and I picked it up because you just had to see it.

And when was it we were taught to not make childish movements and gestures? Remember being eight and twirling around and around until you fell laughing? I used to run my brothers into the ground, arms flailing about and hair whipping around my face. Ma used to call me her other son, the Tasmanian Devil. And I don't remember when it was that I stopped doing all that. Today I realized I stopped when I got older but seriously, it's all I want to do when I think of you. All of these memories of being untamed and unleashed are what I hold right now when I think of you and how I feel.

I don't know what's happening to me. I don't know why all these thoughts and words are coming to me in such waves. Something has opened up in me that I've held back for so long. There's never been anyone to share this deepest part of me with. And besides, I have to be strong. I've always had to be the one who protected everyone no matter what the cost. Even my own heart was guarded with a jealous pride in that I alone needed only to be strong. Maura I'm scared. I'm terrified that all I have is this body and this heart and these memories to bring to you. By the time this letter reaches you I will already be there. I've decided that even if this is all I can bring to you, then this is what you get. From the sound of your second letter I feel it may be enough. And for a moment I was lost in all my failings, something about finding out someone is in love with you is humbling.

There are certain things I will always believe, do and feel. I'll always believe that God is real and alive no matter what I'm doing or where I'm at or how many questions I have. Hoyt almost took that away from me but I know that there's something bigger. I'll always admit I'm wrong when I am. I'll always love the people in my life no matter how much they hurt me or let me down because I know I'm capable of causing that sort of pain too. I know that there are people out there who have no voice. And people who believe they have a voice but use it in such a way that sounds like crashing symbols; out of tune and dry and cracking like the sun baked desert.

I share this with you because I have heard your voice. I have heard the sound of your heart and it is none of those things. I tell you these things because I am a child in my thoughts of you. I tell you this because inside I am twirling my arms, and the rock I found for you is in the palm of my outstretched hand.

Always,

Jane


	5. What Ian Needs to Know

_**Thank you for reading these words. **_

_**I still own nothing and I'm pretty happy about it. **_

_**Just these words.**_

_**I'm happy about that too.**_

_**I don't know when I'll run out of things to say**_

Dear Ian,

Do you remember that night in Africa when we slept outside on a dare? The next morning we got in trouble from our supervisor because he had the entire village out looking for us? Do you remember that young mother who'd contracted Loa Loa Filariasis? It took us forever to diagnose her because she was from Cameroon and had just migrated to Kenya? Her name was Edith Ekwensi and she was beautiful. Her daughter had the biggest crush on you! She was only eight but she knew she loved you. Remember how she made up songs for you while you were working?

As I sit here in front of the Oceanside window writing this to you I'm reminded of all the good things that happened to us over there. I think of the horrible things we saw but for some reason I can only come up with good memories.

It's storming outside and lightening is meeting the top of the waves. Even from where I sit I can see the wind causing the waters to roil far out at sea, I am watching wave after wave being born.

Lately I've given myself up to rambling on until my real intentions are brought to the surface….

Ian I am in love.

You know her. Her name is Jane. You held her foot in your hand and told her the story of us spending the night under the African sky. She is here in this house with me, asleep in the next room. And when the lightening stops outside and the waves subside for a moment I swear I can hear her breathe.

Ian you and I always said we would be honest with each other no matter how hard it hurts. I need to tell you these things about her; about her and me because there is no one else I can share this with who will understand. And besides we said to each other that night we slept outside that Africa brought out some primal _thing_ in us that could not be ignored no matter who we shared it with, as long as we told the other about it. That night I came close to feeling like I had a best friend in you. And now that Jane and I are here in this house, this world of ocean and sand and light and each other, I know that I can tell you why.

I love her Ian. I love her for all the reasons I told you that night. I hadn't even met her yet and I knew that I loved her. I loved the _idea_ of her. I loved knowing that maybe somewhere beyond Africa and all that I'd come to know, that someone existed who would frustrate me and excite me and make me cry and laugh all in a week's time. It was my fantasy and I was fine with it being just that. Remember how you teased me when I told you this? Now that I think back I wasn't quite sure if you were a little jealous in your musings or if you were encouraging me. I mean you did hold me with a fierce protectiveness that night. Or was it the nakedness of our location that prompted you to guard me like that?

Jane holds me like that now. There is a roof over my head this time and instead of the calls of Africa I hear the constant crashing of waves and the call of seagulls. You know why I tell you this right? I tell you these things because of what you said that night you left Boston: "Maura, I want you to find what you're looking for and what I cannot give you." I cried when you said that. I knew you were saying goodbye and I thought for a minute that it was only that. It wasn't until later that I realized you were telling me farewell. Jane came over that night after you left. I told her to arrest me for helping you. She wouldn't do it, and instead she sat with me while I cried. For a little while afterwards I wasn't sure what I was crying about; you, Africa and what we shared there, Jane and what I felt for her, the craggy, empty, sharp pain of nothingness in my heart….

All this to say that all those nights and that one night in particular in Africa where we shared everything we had, have brought me here. To my own continent surrounded by water. The land isn't scorched by an African sun. The nights are still filled with stars and I have named them all for her.

Please forgive me Ian for telling you in this manner. I cannot fly to Africa to tell you. I cannot call you because I don't actually know where you are. But also know that in these words I'm writing down for you is the last vestige of my hope for something more. Not exclusively because my hope has died for _us, _but because my something more now has a name.

With all my heart,

Maura


	6. Jane's Song

_**I know it seems like Maura has more to say than Jane at the moment. Rest assured Jane is has a lot more to say. She just takes longer to reign in her passion and form words from fire.**_

_**Thank you for your patience and your feedback.**_

_**Thank you for letting me share this with you.**_

_**And still I own nothing**_

Dear Jane,

I saw your face the other day. It was actually at the break of day. You smiled at me in your sleep. Tracing your lips, let me sing you into the morning.

I saw the rolling hills turn into mountains in the distance and thought of your body, strong, light, soft and wild…let me dance in your pastures. Let me hold my arms wide and close my eyes and hold my head back and turn around and around in you.

I went for a walk by the ocean and watched the water from the top of a cliff, under that light house we explored on Tuesday. The wind was blowing and the water was washing over me in a mist, I thought of your face and the way your tears seemed to wash over me when I opened the door to find your face for the first time in my love…and I thought: let me sing in the face of this moment and every moment after.

I heard the sound your body makes when I part your legs gently…the one like water over rocks in a field, in an undiscovered stream…let me sing and swim in your river…

I buried my face in your black hair and saw the moon inside and the stars before my eyes. Let me sing into the night I hold in my hands.

Your mouth, lips full and soft…tongue darting out to lick the air and your own flesh. Let me sing into your mouth…sing your own song back to me.

If I could I would carry your voice with me and leave my own with you. If I could, I would wear your smile in the morning, climb the mountain of you with each step I take, dive into your ocean, drink from the river of you, run my hands through your night…and listen for your voice.

I'm going to the store. You ran out of Coca Puffs.

M


	7. Jane

_**It's been a minute since I last wrote anything more. **_

_**Thank you for your feedback. Jane takes awhile.**_

_**I thought she would be easier to share but she **_**IS**_** deceptively complex!**_

Hey Ma,

So here I am at the Outer Banks, North Carolina. It's warm here. It's like taking a bath warm. Sorta like Boston in the summer only prettier. So far I've found a jar full of shark's teeth from my morning walks on the beach. Yesterday I swam along the beach about a hundred yards out for a mile or so and turned back around. At night the moon get so big I feel like it's going to assault me. Maura says that the moon controls the waves. I believe it. I also knew that but I like when she tells me things so I let it go.

So, you're probably wondering why I left Boston so fast.

I am in love Ma. I am in love with Maura. I wish I could say I could help it but I can't. I tried to not be. I tried to go out on dates and I even tried to talk to Grant but I found the entire time I was only thinking of her. I wish I could say I'm sorry but I'm not. I have no idea how you're going to respond to this and even though I love you, I don't care.

Remember when I was eight and I had that bad nose bleed and I had to go to the doctor so he could cauterize it? Remember how I didn't cry and how you did? And when I saw you crying I cried. I hated seeing you cry. You told me it wasn't my fault you were crying but Ma, you have to know, I wanted to protect you. I even cupped my hands under your chin to catch your tears, remember? You grabbed my hands in yours and said you would be fine and that you love me. You hugged me so hard I felt all the breath leave my body and I didn't care because I made you stop crying! And even though I was only eight I felt all my investment in you. I wanted to make it so you would never cry again.

And here I am.

I'm in love with Maura Isles.

She is who I used to write to at night when I would fall asleep with my arm in the air. I was writing love letters in the air to an unknown person, declaring my love for someone I never talked about. I can't remember what I wrote back then but the words I've been holding onto for so long seem to be coming to me pretty easy lately.

We'll be back pretty soon. I'm going to write Pop a letter so don't say anything to him ok? I'm hoping that his letter will reach him at the same time this reaches you. I know he's not living there anymore but I'm still going to tell him. Plus I have some questions for him too.

Ma, please don't cry about this. I hope that you'll accept me and Maura as we are. I know you have so far but now I'm in this bubble of love with her and no amount of poking and prodding will break it. That day I cupped my hands under your chin to hold your falling tears, that day I knew that I was born to love someone just as much as those tears.

Jane


	8. Jane's Question

_**I think it's been difficult for me to write Jane's letter to her father. I think that father's are meant to show their sons how to treat women and to show their little girls how they were meant to be treated: with honor. I think that if you come from a different background than that the words don't come as easily. I'm still going to give it a shot….**_

Hey Pop,

I was going to write to you to tell you something important but when I sat down to do this I realized I had a few questions for you instead. I'll get to the important thing in a minute.

Why did you leave Ma? Why did you tell me when I was seven that dad's were supposed to stay forever? Why haven't you even tried to call me or Frankie? You do remember we're your kid's right? I may be older now but I still wonder where my pop went.

I had a dream the other night that we were back at the baseball field where you tried to get me on the little league team. Remember that? Only in my dream I made the team and you were cheering me on. I remember that day like it just happened: You held my hand and I skipped along side of you asking question after question about baseball. We got to the field and there were little boys everywhere, throwing and batting and laughing. Danny Carter was there too and when he saw me he ran over and yelled "what are you doing here? You're just a girl!" And you held my hand tighter and said "this is my girl and she can throw harder than you!" Coach walked up right then and told you that girls can't be on the team. You made me throw the baseball and catch it and field it with you and my hair kept getting in the way. But when the coach told you he was impressed and asked if I could bat you said "we haven't worked on that yet". But I got up to the plate and tried. Remember? I swung that bat with everything I had and missed over and over. Danny Carter was laughing so hard that I tried to hit _him _with the bat. Coach thanked you and said it wasn't going to work out. I remember you were so quiet on the walk home that I apologized. You told me we'd try again next season but we never did.

When I woke up the other morning from my dream you were so proud of me because I'd hit a homer. For a second after I woke up I thought that was why you left ma. I'd let you down so many times. But the grown up in me cussed you out for making her cry.

Why pop? Why did you leave? It's like you completely disappeared off the face of the earth. What the hell did I do to deserve that? You said dads don't leave.

In my line of work they always leave. I see everyday how dads leave, sometimes by choice, sometimes not. I used to feel better than everyone else because I knew my parent's marriage was rock solid. I knew that since you and ma were "you and ma" before I was even born, that nothing could change that. But now I feel like everyone else and I see how ridiculous it was to think dads remain.

I was going to tell you that I am in love with Maura Isles and we're now committed to each other. I mean we were committed before but now it's on a whole new level. But that's all I want you to know. I'm not going to tell you how much she means to me or what it's like being in love with her. I can't give that to you. I need to hear from you and hear you tell me that even though you left ma you didn't leave me and Frankie. So far I haven't heard a word from you and I wonder what I'm supposed to do with that.

Remember that time we went to Coney Island? It was my first trip outside of Boston and Frankie kept following me everywhere I went. I was only nine but I protected him like it was my job. You said we were going to the arcade so you loaded your pockets with what must've been a thousand dimes. I remember your pockets hung down like saddle bags. I thought you walked so funny! And then I heard you cuss and turn around and around like you were lost. Ma asked you what was wrong and you said that your pockets had holes in them so all the dimes were gone. You sat on a bench and put your head in your hands and wouldn't look anyone in the eye. Remember everyone thought I was lost right after that? I went looking for all the dimes. I told Frankie to keep an eye on you and I followed the trail of dimes. I didn't find very many since the boardwalk was crowded and people kept picking them up right in front of me! But I found some and I brought them back to you. Remember? Do you remember what you said? You said "thanks for trying kid but it's not enough." I want to go to sleep sometimes and dream you took me in your arms and smothered me with kisses and yelled "my Janie is a hero!"

Maybe that's why I'm a cop now.

What I know for sure pop is that Maura cheers me on. I am her hero. She is mine.

I don't need your approval for this either. I need to know that the dimes were enough. That I made you proud for how many times I swung that bat. And I need to know that you're still here.

Jane


	9. Strength and Where it Came From

Dear Maura,

You're at work right now and I know I can just talk to you there but writing things down make it easier for me to breathe.

Thank you Maura. Thank you for seeing my Jane for who she is and loving her.

You know, when she was little I used to have to wrap my arms around her tightly to keep her from losing herself in anger. She couldn't shoot a basket like her brothers and it used to infuriate her. She had delicate wrists and when she saw her brothers shooting baskets with a flick of their wrists she wanted to do the same. But her "stupid girl bits" gave her away. That was her phrase for her weaknesses. I used to go in and check on her at night and sometimes she wasn't in her bed and it used to scare me every time. Then I would hear thumping outside and knew she was trying to "build up her wrist muscles". I'd let her play for a little while and then go out to get her and put her back to bed. For a seven year old she sure knew what she wanted in life.

But when it still wasn't enough she would lose all herself and rage would settle in her. She would come into the kitchen and start throwing things and just stand there and scream. It's Lucky for her she had a deep voice even back then, so her screams were more like a little boy's than a little girl's. The first time she did this I had to check for blood or broken bones and when I didn't find any I grabbed her and held tightly. She tried so hard to get out of my arms that I ended up with a fat lip. But I held onto her. Eventually she settled down and asked me why she wasn't as strong as her brothers. I was at a loss for words for a moment until I realized that she was a true gift from God. That God put her in my world to show me how to love and be real. So I explained that she was the strongest little girl I'd ever known and that even if she couldn't flick her wrists like her brothers, she was ten times stronger than them because she never gave up trying.

And now she has you.

Since you two have been back from North Carolina I see in her a new strength.

One she's never displayed before.

She can outrun most people, she can flip her brothers over with a flick of her wrist and knee them in the chest. She can stand and look me in the eye and swear she's ok. These are all the things she's always been able to do.

But she's never walked in love like she does now.

She's always been the little girl I've prayed for and loved with my entire being and been thankful to God for. The strongest kid I've ever known.

But now she seems to be discovering that for herself.

In you.

Thank you,

Angela


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